


What A Way To Go

by sinfuldesire_archivist



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Angst, First Time, Horror, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Season/Series 03
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-08-21
Updated: 2010-08-21
Packaged: 2018-09-03 10:33:51
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,948
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8708989
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sinfuldesire_archivist/pseuds/sinfuldesire_archivist
Summary: The Trickster is an inventive and evil fellow. He came up with a very interesting way for Dean to die during 3x11 "Mystery Spot." (Obviously, there be spoilers here.)





	

**Author's Note:**

> Note from the Sinful Desire archivists: this story was originally archived at [Sinful-Desire.org](http://fanlore.org/wiki/Sinful_Desire). To preserve the archive, we began importing its works to the AO3 as an Open Doors-approved project in November 2016. We e-mailed all creators about the move and posted announcements, but may not have reached everyone. If you are (or know) this creator, please contact us using the e-mail address on [Sinful Desire collection profile](http://archiveofourown.org/collections/sinfuldesire/profile).
> 
>  **Author's notes:** All right, so this is my first attempt at writing Wincest. Seeing as I just started writing Supernatural, not just reading and watching it, I'm kinda nervous about it. My main coping mechanism is humor, so after I saw 3x11 "Mystery Spot" I immediately needed to make a joke. The original plot bunny was a bit more humorous than it turned out, but somewhere along the line this turned dark and more than a bit creepy.

_"Heat of the moment. . ."_

 

Sam didn't even sit up as he listened to that damn song. He really hated it. He was very tempted to throw the alarm clock across the room, but the last (and only) time he had done that, it had ricocheted off the wall and hit Dean in the head, breaking his neck.

 

That had been about a week of Tuesdays ago, Sam thought. He couldn't really be sure anymore. All the days and deaths were beginning to blur together into a mass of pain, undistinguishable from each other. He had tried everything. Getting out of bed and leaving the room as quickly as possible. Going to the diner. Not going to the diner. Insisting Dean stay behind while Sam went and got food for them. Everything. Well, almost everything.

 

He needed Dean to stay still, in the motel room, not doing anything. Sam didn't want to chance slugging him (what creative and strange way would that kill Dean?), and he didn't think he could get Dean to take sleeping pills or slip them to him. There was also the chance of an overdose to think of. Sam could try talking to his brother, but that always worked so well.

 

Dean was bouncing on the corner of Sam's bed now, lip synching and dancing to that stupid fucking song. His erratic motions and flushed face gave Sam an idea. Nothing could happen if he did that, right?

 

So Sam surged up, catching his brother off guard. Dean struggled a bit, but Sam had a mission. He didn't want to think why he was even contemplating doing this. It was all to save Dean. That was it. He quickly got Dean pinned beneath him.

 

"Dude," Dean protested, "I don't mind a little wrestling now and then, but c'mon. Not with you, man."

 

"Shut up, Dean," Sam growled, reaching for his jeans. Dean saw where he was heading and began struggling again, saying something about "Can't" and "What the hell, Sammy!" and "Are you out of your ever lovin' mind?" Sam ignored him until he had Dean's jeans almost off his hips. Of course, Dean was making it difficult, wiggling and twisting, trying to buck him off.

 

"Hold still," he ordered, gaining an inch only to nearly fall off the bed. "Listen, it's for your own good, Dean."

 

"Yeah fucking right!" Dean spat, sensing Sam's imbalance and struggling harder. "What the hell'd you do with my brother? Christo! Damn it, christo!"

 

Sam won the struggle and got the jeans down past Dean's groin. Planting his knee firmly on the denim, he managed to further pin Dean. Then he grabbed Dean's flailing arms and pressed them into the mattress.

 

"Dean, listen — just listen for a second." Sam watched warily as his brother quieted. He didn't think Dean would give up so easily so this must be the calm before the storm. Sam had to think of some way to spin this so Dean would accept it.

 

"Look," he began, "I had a dream last night. I don't know if it was a vision or not, but. . ."

 

Dean snorted. "Thought you said those had quit coming."

 

"Yeah, I thought so too. That's why I'm not sure," Sam admitted — lied — hanging his head but still keeping a close eye on Dean. The man was like a shark scenting blood in the water.

 

"So why don't you just let me up, and we can forget this ever happened." Dean brightened at the idea and tugged gently against Sam's grip on him. Sam just tightened his hold, shaking his head while preparing for the worst.

 

"Just go with me on this, man. I'm not gonna hurt ya," he promised. Then an idea occurred to him. "I'm gonna to let go for a second."

 

Dean's eyes lit up, and he tensed almost imperceptibly. Sam knew where he was going and cut him off at the pass. "I'll only let go if you promise me that you won't freak out, man. I'm gonna prove to you that I'm me."

 

Dean sighed and deflated but nodded his agreement. Sam regarded him warily for a moment before slowly letting go of his brother's left wrist. He wasn't stupid after all, and neither was Dean. As soon as Sam let go, Dean burst into action. He landed a solid left hook to Sam's jaw and pulled back for another blow. Sam blocked him quickly then yanked at his T-shirt, ignoring the ripping sound it made.

 

Dean's eyes fixed on his tattoo and all the fight went out of him. He turned his head away and sighed. "So now what," he asked cautiously, not looking at Sam.

 

Sam let out his own sigh and relaxed slightly before answering. He had to choose his words very carefully. "I dreamed that if you went out that door or did anything. . .normal today, you'd die."

 

For a moment, Dean was still then he looked at Sam and burst out in a nervous chuckle. "So you just what? Decided that you had to totally weird me out by jumping me? Yeah, nice, Sam. You almost gave me a heart attack!"

 

"What was I supposed to do? And 'sides, you were the one jumping into my bed," Sam teased. They shared a moment of uneasy laughter then Dean got serious.

 

"So you sure you wanna do this?"

 

Sam didn't even hesitate before answering. "Yeah, I'm sure."

 

"Just this one time?" Dean asked, looking as close to nervous as he ever got. Sam didn't like that look on his big brother. It didn't belong on him.

 

"Uh huh, just the one time. I think we just have to do something unusual and we'll be fine." Yeah, as if it were that simple. Sam didn't really think it would work, but they'd never tried anything so major before. If it didn't work, then at least Dean wouldn't remember.

 

A dark voice in Sam's head asked if he wanted Dean to remember and why he thought of doing what he was about to do in the first place. It was totally weird and unnatural and so unlike him. But then, that was the idea after all. Break the mold entirely, shatter it into a million pieces by doing the unexpected. Dean's uncomfortable fidgeting banished the dark voice, and Sam realized he'd kind of left him hanging.

 

"Just lay back," he urged, letting go of Dean completely in a show of good faith. "I'll do all the work."

 

"That sounds so comforting," Dean grumbled as Sam pulled his jeans the rest of the way down, then pushed him further up the bed, and reached for his boxers. "You're not gonna —"

 

"No," Sam said quickly and backed off a bit. "God, no. Not that."

 

"Oh, OK." Dean settled back, half sitting, with Sam's pillows propping him up, seemingly content to let Sam take over. "Just had to check there."

 

Sam hummed a noncommittal noise and tugged Dean's boxers down. His stomach fluttered uneasily, and Sam told himself that he was nervous because of what might happen. Yeah, that was it. He heard his brother take a quick breath as he wrapped his hand around Dean's shaft. It could have been in preparation to say something more or just surprise, but Sam didn't wait to find out.

 

"Dean," he said, looking up, "Stop talking. OK? It's hard enough as it is."

 

Dean gave him a funny look, but didn't say anything. None the less, Sam could hear Dean's voice in his head saying something about chicks digging him. Sam didn't wait then. He had to do this now. He lowered himself to his brother's dick and took just the head into his mouth. His hand began to stroke steadily over what he couldn't fit, coaxing Dean to harden. It took a bit of work, but Dean slowly relaxed.

 

Sam carefully took in as much as he could without gagging. He could feel how tense Dean still was under him, despite Sam's best efforts. Taking a deep breath, he prepared himself then slowly slid Dean's shaft all the way down his throat. Sam almost gagged and stopped, but he forged ahead, swallowed once, twice and slid off, cheeks hollowing and just starting to ache.

 

Dean hissed and shot up off the mattress. Sam tried to hold him down but was too busy to really succeed.

 

"Holy shit!" Dean gasped, hands wrapped tightly in Sam's hair to hold him off. "Where the hell'd you learn that?"

 

Sam flashed his brother a self depreciating grin, knowing Dean would be all over him later if — when they got outta here. He could already hear that conversation in his head. "You can learn lots of things in college, man," was all he said.

 

Dean considered it for a minute, but Sam chose that moment to start stroking again, massaging the sensitive bundle of nerves right under the head. Mind apparently made up, Dean let him go and might have even pushed Sam back down.

 

Dean waited until Sam had his mouth full again to say, "Remind me to ask just what it is they teach at Stanford sometime and get the names of your teachers, Sammy."

 

He sucked extra hard in agreement then really went to town. Sam used every trick he'd ever heard of or been on the receiving end of. Dean didn't stand a chance, and it was no surprise that Sam had him writhing, begging, and panting on the bed.

 

He ignored everything, even Dean's faint warnings and the gentle tugs on his hair. Then Dean stiffened beneath him, and Sam's mouth was flooded with seed. As he swallowed, he glanced up from beneath his eyelashes, taking in his brother's flushed face. Something struck him as off about his appearance though.

 

Sam didn't want to think about how he knew it, but Dean's normal sex-flush was lighter and higher, on his cheekbones. This was darker and redder, and the way his face was scrunched suggested pain, not pleasure. The dark voice in Sam's supplied that Dean looked like he was dying, that Sam had literally killed him with sex. Sam shook it off and pulled away, flopping beside Dean on the bed.

 

He grew more concerned as Dean didn't move. His face stayed scrunched up and the flush didn't fade, but darkened. Without Sam's hair to clutch at, Dean's hands were clutching his chest, right over his heart. But it wasn't until Dean's eyes rolled up in his head and he shuddered then fell limp that Sam realized something was really wrong.

 

"Dean," he called, bumping his brother's shoulder. When he got no response, just utter silence, Sam scrambled over and felt for a pulse on Dean's neck.

 

There was nothing there.

 

Frantic now, Sam shook Dean harder and laid his head on Dean's chest, searching for a heartbeat. More silence. Nothing.

 

Nothing meant Dean was dead. Sam's crazy plan hadn't worked.

 

Shocked and hurt, Sam threw himself away from his brother's body. He landed on the floor with a thump then scooted backward until he hit the wall. Trapped, still looking at Dean, Sam started to cry and rock.

 

He'd tried. He'd tried so hard. Nothing worked, not even sex. What was he supposed to do? Suddenly, the situation hit home with Sam and he found himself laughing through his tears. In fact, he was laughing hysterically — crazy, gut-wrenching howls that were too bitter to be true mirth.

 

Of all the ways for Dean to die — all the ways he _had_ died, and now this! Dead after sex. That was just too much.

 

Sam curled in on himself, feeling like he was breaking, shattering. Then —

 

_"Heat of the moment. . ."_


End file.
